Awaken (Open)
The last memory Rayne of Kenyon possessed was talking softly with the strange and canny human called Eva. Now, as if waking from a long sleep, the chatelaine found herself seated on a one-piece bench with a table before her, hands neatly folded in her lap, ankles crossed. Her clothing was quite strange -- a knee-length black dress that followed the lines of her form, a belt that seemed more decorative than functional, and stone jewelry that carried the sense of blood. None of what she wore was hers.
Alarm, it would seem, was destined to be her closest companion.
The strangest part of this place was the monochromatic scheme of -- everything, of everyone. It was beautiful, but dim -- like too little starlight on a very deep night. Even the jewelry on her wrist and hand, that she would have imagined as garnet or ruby, instead carried a rich shade of gray. Rayne lifted one long-fingered hand, extended her fingers -- and a passing human woman slapped a bit of lacquered, folded paper into her curved palm. Instinctively, Rayne caught it and gave the young woman an inquisitive glance. In response, the woman only said, "The waffles are good."
Waffles. "Indeed," Rayne responded, looking at the writing on the folded paper. What were waffles? And what was this sheet? It seemed to be some sort of menu, crudely produced -- and stained. Rayne delicately set it on the polished wooden table.
Around her, the same sort of scene was playing out at other tables. From her vantage point, she recognized no one, but her observations - quick as they were - told her she was not quite as alone in this bizarre tableau as she felt.